Mother's Love
by vinkunwildflowerqueen
Summary: sequel to SLAUGHTER. Chloe is now 18. How has she grown up without her mother? And how has everyone else survived? Please read Author's Note at the beginning of chapter 1.
1. Chapter 1

**Mommy's Girl**

**By phoenixgirl23**

**DISCLAIMER: House isn't mine. But Chloe is.**

**AUTHORS NOTE: hey everyone. remember in June (i think it was June) when i finished posting 'the excpetion' and said i had heaps of stories to write whilst i was on uni holidays? Well, this is the only one i've finished. to be honest, i didn't get a lot of writing done. This is because of a PM i got from someone (I won't name names... coz i don't remember who it was) from a very observant reader who had noted on my bio that i've never dated even at 19. They then went on to say that because i haven't experienced love or even a date, i have no right to be writing love stories. This hurt a lot, and i didn't write for about a month. hence, partly, the delay.**

**so, this is the long awaited sequel to SLAUGHTER and it follows Chloe, on her 18th birthday and how everyone has coped with Cameron's death. it wasn't supposed to be sad, but neither was SLAUGHTER. i'm not really happy with the end, but i hope you like it. I didn't really plan this story, it just happened. Enjoy.**

**One- Chloe**

It was a beautiful summer's morning, not a cloud in the sky. I slightly regretted my decision to skip my morning run as I got out of the car and the sun hit my bare shoulders, but I knew that I had purposefully skipped my run for a reason- besides the obvious fact that no normal person wants to do exercise on their birthday, especially those born in the middle of summer.

The streets were quiet, but I could hear a distant hum of traffic as I carefully picked up the small bouquet of lilies that lay on the passenger seat. The sweet fragrance of the flowers was swept up in the slight breeze as I walked through the gates, leaving the path to forge my way to my destination.

"Hi, Momma," I said quietly, stopping at the grave and placing my flowers on top of the tombstone.

I sat down on the ground and folded my legs underneath me, not saying anything. It never got any easier, coming to a stone and making conversation. After nearly twelve years, you would think I'd know how to start a conversation, right? That's why I only came once a month now, or if I really needed to vent. My Dad still came twice a week, sometimes more, but well... I suppose he has more memories of her than I do. I was only six when she died.

Finally, I cleared my throat and started talking. "Well... it's my birthday," I said simply, although I'm not sure why. I did this every year, and I still have no idea why I do it. If she had been alive, she would know it's my birthday, and it's not like I expect a cake to magically appear before the grave, some ghostly birthday celebration from beyond. God, that would be creepy. I _have_ to stop reading scary ghost stories, otherwise I'll never be able to come here again.

"I haven't seen Dad yet," I continued. "He was already at the hospital when I got up, but he did leave me a note."

I rolled my eyes as I remembered his words. "You know the usual, _happy birthday tadpole! I can't believe my little girl's eighteen now. How does it feel? Have a great day and I'll see you tonight. Love Dad." _He _really_ has to stop calling me 'tadpole', but he hasn't listened for the past five years I've told him, so I don't really expect him to start now. And I don't see how eighteen is supposed to feel any different than seventeen."

A thought occurred to me and I shrugged. "Well, except for the fact I'm done with school. I still can't believe I've graduated! I never have to do algebra again!"

I was still so proud of that simple fact, but then I remembered Dad saying that Mom would have said the same thing; math wasn't her strong point either.

"I suppose Dad told you all about graduation... and that I got into Princeton. I think he's told everyone at PPTH, and at least half of Melbourne. Dad said we'll probably go down for a week or two next month."

That wasn't said with much enthusiasm, I admit. I love Australia, and the few family I have there, but to leave summer here, when it's winter there? Depressing. At least it's not as cold in Melbourne as winter here- no snow anyway.

"I'm still trying to convince him to spend a few days in Sydney before we come home after Melbourne, but he just says "We'll see, mate.""

I can imitate my Dad's accent pretty good, if I do say so myself. Better than Dr. House anyway. He always just moans that's because I have a slight Aussie accent naturally, so it's not imitating, just exaggerating; but he's just a sore loser.

"I'm going to do a degree in social work and welfare," I said aloud. "I want to help kids with HIV, I think. Or kids who lose a parent... any kids really. Dr. House said that was a bad idea, because with my genetics I'd end up fostering a dozen troubled kids. I think it was supposed to be a dig at you or Dad, but I'm not really sure," I shrugged. "Probably you more than Dad, because he got that weird look on his face after he said it; but I still don't understand it."

Dr. House did this often, make cryptic comments and then get this strange look in his eyes. I was probably eight or nine when I realised the look was linked to my mother, but I've never understood it. But I don't understand half of what he says anyway, so it's no big deal.

There's really only so much you can say to a headstone, so eventually I said goodbye and drove home to my empty house. I was kind of dreading the moment my Dad came home, because I knew what would happen. He'd hug me, give me my presents, and let me get whatever I want for dinner, (that part I'm not complaining about). But afterwards, he'd give me another letter.

I don't want it to sound like I don't like hearing from my mother, however long she's been dead... but it doesn't make it hurt any less the fact that she is _dead. _As in not here. These letters and a few memories are all I have left of her.

It's different for my Dad, he has me. Of course, that doesn't stop him from missing her. It's been nearly twelve years, but he's never dated, as far as I know, never thought about it. I know Uncle Eric's tried to get him to get out more, but it's a lost cause. My Dad's life revolves around work and me. Once my grandmother suggested that we move away from New Jersey, but that was immediately shot down; and not just from my Dad and I.

I have a lot of different relationships in my life. There's my Dad; my grandparents; my Aunts and Uncles and cousins in Chicago; my friends; my colleagues at the music shop I work part time; and then there's the doctors who worked with my mother before I was born.

Uncle Eric's also my godfather, and he's pretty cool. He got married when I was ten and I was their flower girl. Then he and his wife, Emma (who's super cool) had a daughter three years later. He actually asked Dad and I if it would be okay with us if they called her Allison. He and Dad had a weird moment, and Dr. House asked if they were going to kiss. Dad and Uncle Eric rolled their eyes, but I actually thought he had a point. I baby-sit Allie heaps, she's almost five now and _so _cute!

I hang out with Rachel a lot- that's the kid Lisa adopted not long after Mom died. She's nearly twelve now, and we call ourselves 'surrogate sisters'. When Allie's old enough, she'll probably join in too. Lisa says that Mom's death made her realise life's too short not to go after her dreams. Dr. House said by that philosophy, he should be getting serviced by Angelina Jolie on the beaches of Barbados. Or something to that affect anyway, Dad covered my ears but I got the gist of it. I was six, not stupid.

James is great, if I'm having a really hard time with life, or Dad, I go to him. Dad tried to make me see this counsellor a few times through the years, but I prefer talking to James. Dr. House does, and he's _way_ more messed up than I am; so I think if _he _can talk to James, I can. Plus he knows heaps of stuff about my mom, and is like the only one who doesn't get all teary-eyed when he talks about her. There was a time when I decided I didn't want to talk about her anymore, and he was cool with that too. Everyone else fed me the 'you can't forget about your mom' talk, but James was like "hey, you loved her. She's gone, and sometimes it's easier not to talk about the people we love who are gone."

I would have to say, the weirdest relationship I have in my entire life, is my relationship with Dr. House. When Dad first came back to work, I didn't want to go to school and be 'the kid whose mom died of HIV', so I'd go to hospital with him. And somehow, within the week, I was hanging out in diagnostic's with Dr. House. Half the time, we don't even talk. But Dad's in the surgery department now, has been for years, and he knows I'll usually be hanging out in Diagnostic's even now. At the start, Dr. House used to make comments about it, that it was something my mom would do; but the one day I didn't go, he was wondering where I was. When I was in my _'don't mention my mother' _phase, he didn't really do anything. Eventually I asked him for his opinion on the matter, and he just quoted Dumbledore.

You know that part in _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ where he says "The people we love never truly leave us?" (Or whatever to that affect). Then he just shushed me because the commercials were over. But even when I didn't want to talk about her, I never cared when he brought mom up. It was just something in the way he spoke about her... like I said, half the time I never know what he's talking about anyway, so it doesn't hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: House isn't mine, only Choe**

**Two- Chloe**

When I got home, I was really bored. It was getting quite humid by now, and the air conditioning had been broken for a month. I eventually ended up in the attic, because it's nice and cool up there. I took a book, my mother's copy of _Pride and Prejudice _Dad had given me for my thirteenth birthday, which I've read like a thousand times, but I couldn't concentrate. For some reason, I decided to go through the gazillion boxes we've stored in the attic over the past eighteen years we've lived here.

I do love our house, even though Dad and I just seem to rattle around in it. Mom's been gone for nearly twelve years, and her things have been packed up and stored (in the attic, of course) for eleven; but Dad and I swear we can still smell her perfume through the house,. That's the best memory I have of my mom. I don't remember her being sick, I just remember her smell- the sweet fragrance of lilies. Not everything of hers is in the attic though. Her books, movies and music collection is still on the shelves in the living room; her cookbooks still in the kitchen; and her robe has been mine since she died. Apparently, it was the only thing that could help me sleep after she died, and I've just never let it go.

Every rainy day when I'm bored out of my brain, especially in the last few years, I've promised myself I'm going to look through them but I never do. Today seemed as good as any, despite the good weather and the fact it's my birthday.

The first few boxes I found were clothes and shoes. This is actually great, because it looks like we were the same size! All this time I've been moaning about the meagre contents of my closet, and there's a stash of stuff up here! I wonder if Dad would let me have them... although that might be weird for him.... I remember the day all this stuff got packed up here. Lisa came over and helped Dad do it while I got to feed Rachel her bottle. I remember Dad crying a lot, and I spent the night at Lisa's and we made humongous ice-cream sundaes.

I do get told a lot that I look like my mother. I've seen all the photos of her growing up at my grandparents in Chicago; and its true. The only real difference is that my hair is blonde, like my Dad's. When I was fifteen, my friends and I dyed our hair, and I went brown. I changed it back as quick as I could though; the first time Dad saw me he looked like he'd seen a ghost.

There's an old wardrobe against the back wall, containing three garment bags and a small box which looks promising. The first bag has a beautiful red strapless cocktail dress, which I immediately fell in love with. The next dress is her wedding dress, which I've seen a million times in the pictures on the mantelpiece. I decided when I was thirteen, that when I get married I want to wear my mother's dress; seeing it in reality made me absolutely certain of that.

I couldn't really think what the third bag would be, maybe an evening dress or something. So I was really confused to open it and find... another wedding dress. It's nice, but a lot more simple and less elegant than my mom's. The only thing I could think of was that it had just been a white formal dress, maybe her prom dress?

Shaking my head, I zipped it back up and turned my attention to the small box on the closet floor. At first I thought it was just a box of notebooks, and well... that's kind of boring. But when I flicked through one, I saw something that I've seen my entire life- my mother's handwriting. Interested now, I grabbed the one on top, and realised what they were- my mother's diaries.

I admit, I hesitated for only a moment before settling down with the box, I mean- do I really want to perhaps read my mother gushing about how hot my Dad is? No thank you. No child should be subjected to that.

It doesn't take me long to put them in order, and to realise that she had obviously been keeping diaries pretty much her whole life- which is pretty cool. The eldest one in the box starts when she is twenty-six, and just before she started her fellowship under Dr. House.

By now, this is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I love stories about my mother, but I don't really know what she was like. What's a better way for me to learn about my mother than to learn it from her?


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: House isn't mine, but CHloe is. **

**Three- House**

What's that saying? It's quietest before the storm? Boy, was that guy right.

It was a quiet day, no patients, no clinic duty... well, no clinic duty that I was planning on actually doing. So, I was in my office just listening to music and wondering just what time I could escape outside before the sun disappears.

On the whole, today has been a success. I knew, of course, what today was; and I'd done very well about not thinking about this same day eighteen years ago... and what will have happened twelve years ago in just eighty-seven days from now. If it's this bad for me, I actually feel sorry for Chase... Allison Cameron has been dead for 4, 293 days and it still hurts.

I haven't actually been to her grave since her funeral. I know Chase and Chloe go a lot, as does Foreman but I just don't see the point in talking to a rock. God, what I'd give to hear her voice again. I think I've kept my promise to her, the one I made that last time I saw her alive.

At any rate, I'm not dead. And Chloe is... her mother's daughter. That's the highest praise I can give her. Not that I've ever told her that, that's the job for the _Allison Cameron _fan club. It was maybe.... no, that's a load of bullshit, I know exactly how long ago it was: it was 164 days since she died that I thought I should have asked her what constituted 'taking care of myself'. That thought may have crossed my mind because when it occurred to me I was drinking myself into oblivion, as I did often in the first year that she was gone.

I used to tell myself I was doing it for Chase- he couldn't, he had a daughter to raise. And because it was Cameron, she deserved _someone _to become a raging alcoholic, passive-aggressive asshole because she was gone. It just so happened I had a head start on everyone else.

But that day, the one hundred and sixty fourth day since her death, something changed. That was the day I first dreamt of her. At first I put it down to an alcohol.... or Vicodin... or insomnia.... put it this way, a something-induced hallucination. So, I stopped drinking. And she came back.

Now, I see her in my dreams every couple of nights. I've never told anyone about them, not even Wilson- especially not Chase; I don't think I could even tell you what they're about. I just know Cameron's there, and that's almost enough. The dreams give me the same feeling that I get whenever I watch the last episode of M*A*S*H again- you want more, you know there won't be more, but you're satisfied with the ending. It slightly lessens the ache I still get in my gut every time I enter the office and expect to see her there, answering mail, making coffee.

The office is exactly the same as it was during the time she worked here, which is perhaps why Chase transferred to surgery as soon as he came back to work, three months after the funeral. But that's why he had to leave, that's why Foreman stays, and that's why I can't change anything.

It took me maybe two months after I started dreaming of her, took Foreman, Cuddy and Wilson a bit longer to realise I wasn't the same 'crazy House' I used to be. Sure, I'll still do whatever I need to do to find the answers; but gone are the days I'll hack into someone's brain- just because. Some may say I've gone soft, but the truth is, I've got Cameron's voice in my head. And I listen to her, maybe more than I did when she was here. Sometimes I think I do it to repent, but I think I just miss someone pushing me to be a better person- and having faith that I can.

Lost in thoughts and memories about Cameron, I jumped a mile when my office door banged open. I don't know why I jumped, did I think I'd see Cameron's ghost with a message or something? As it turns out, it was close. Chloe had stormed into my office clutching a box of notebooks and her face was white.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked her, in genuine concern as I stood up.

She literally couldn't speak, just tossed the box she was holding onto my desk and picking up the notebook on top.

"You're a bastard," she finally got out.

Now this was not the first time I've been called a bastard, but it was the first time Chloe had ever called me it. I had a momentarily flashback to the first time her mother called me a bastard, and winced at the memory and then I sat back down and looked up at her.

"Ok," I replied. What is the appropriate reply to being called a barstard? Especially by... whatever Chloe is to me. My ex-employee's daughter? My friend? The daughter of the only woman I've ever really loved, who just happens to be dead? Wait... strike friend from the options. I have Wilson, that's enough.

Chloe angrily paced up and down in front of my desk, as her mother and probably even her father had done many times before her. She seemed to be trying to find the right words to sum up what she wanted to say. I really hoped it wasn't more swear words or names, it doesn't suit her.

"Were... were you?"

I desperately wanted to point out that it wasn't really a question, but I didn't. In the state she was in, I wasn't sure whether she'd react like Cameron or Chase. Or was she looking for confirmation that I was indeed, a bastard?

Finally, still white and shaking, Chloe sank into the chair opposite my desk and looked me in the eye, swallowing hard.

"Were... were you in love with my mom?"

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't that. I froze, not sure how to answer. She waited patiently for me to answer, and eventually I decided, for some reason, to tell the truth. After all, she was eighteen and Cameron's daughter. She could handle it.

"Yes," I finally choked out, but she seemed to be half-expecting the answer.

"For how long?"

I had _never _been asked that question, I didn't even think I could pinpoint a moment. It had just been one day I realised that I was head over heels in love with Allison Cameron, my employee and eighteen years younger than me, and it scared the crap out of me.

Once again, Chloe didn't press me for an answer, so I was able to think of an answer.

"I'm not really sure. A few months after she started working for me, I guess."

Chloe nodded. "So, before May 2005? You can say that on May 23rd, 2005, you were in love with my mother?"

I frowned, having no idea what the date had to do with anything, although it sounded faintly familiar.

"Yes, I suppose so."

Chloe fixed me with the same glare her mother had so many times over the years. "Right. Then I was right. You are a barstard."

I could have kept my mouth shut, wished her a happy birthday and left. But no, I had to ask.

"And just how do you come to that conclusion?"

She threw me the notebook she held in her hands, and I opened it to the marked page. My heart leapt into my throat as I recognised Cameron's handwriting, and then I studied the page that seemed to have sparked Chloe's fury.

_May 23__rd__, 2005_

_I just got home from my date with House- if you could call it a date. And I guess, for all intent and purpose, it was a date. He picked me up, had made reservations at a fancy restaurant, and bought me the most gorgeous corsage. That was the highlight of the night. _

_I don't know how I'm supposed to go into the office tomorrow- actually, in about six hours and face Chase and Foreman. They were right. That's the worst thing, they were right. Actually, no. House being right.... that's the worst thing._

_I've just done the stupidest thing, even worse than practically blackmailing my boss into a date. I made the mistake of telling him I didn't expect him to be anyone else, and then asking him how he felt about me. I mean, come on Allison! Seriously. I don't know why his answer surprised me._

_I think I got carried away because this is the first time I've felt anything like this since Sam died, and... Well, he did turn up on my doorstep twice begging me to come back to work. Damn, I said I wasn't going to convince myself there was any chance he could have feelings for me. _

_He... was House. He said that I don't love, I need. And that's why I married Sam, because he was dying; and the only reason I like him is because he's damaged. And, I think he's right. Is he right? Am I incapable of loving someone, or do I just want to fix them? Mom always said I live too much in fairytales and romance... there's a reason __Beauty and the Beast __is my favourite movie. I just don't know where to go from here. Every time I meet a guy now, I'll just be thinking- do I like him, or do I want to fix him? And I hate that._

_On the bright side? House doesn't have to worry about my feelings anymore. It's perfectly clear that he doesn't feel anything for me; and well... I'm not sure I can trust my own feelings anymore. Ok, 5.5 hours til I have to be at work, I'm going to sleep. Or try to sleep. At least House gave me a lot to think about. _

That's why the date sounded familiar. Our disastrous date. God, if I could do one thing in my life over- that would be it. I admit it, I panicked when she asked me how I felt about her. And then my mouth spoke without checking with my brain. No wonder Chloe's pissed.

I looked up from the diary at her and was startled to see tears in her eyes.

"Chloe-" I began, but I had no idea what I was going to say.

Fortunately, Chloe wasn't waiting for my answer this time.

"Are you happy? You _crushed_ her! Why would you say that to her? If you really loved her, why didn't you tell her that?"

"Why would you ask me if I loved her?" I asked her bluntly.

She actually gave a faint smile at that. "Because. I've known you my entire life, Dr. House. And I've spent the past few hours reading about the first two years Mom worked for you. Every interaction you two had has been recorded. And the things you did in that first year alone? Hiring her because she was beautiful for 'lobby art'? Checking her medical records to see if she'd lost a baby? Finding out about her first husband? Asking her to the monster trucks? Asking her to come back to work and agreeing to go out with her in the first place? You don't just do these things for anyone."

Well, she had a point.

"So how could you tell her that she's incapable of love?" Chloe demanded, angry again.

I sighed wearily. I almost said something rude, but then I remembered my 'Chloe-deserves-the-truth' policy.

"Chloe... you're right. I was... I _am_ in love with your mother. And I was wrong about what I said to her that night- except for one thing. That I'm damaged. She deserved more than that, and she had it with your Dad."

Chloe shook her head. "I was wrong. You're not a bastard, you're a coward. This big self-sacrificing gesture? She deserved more? I'm only here because Mom got exposed to HIV, took drugs and slept with Dad. If she had never gotten exposed, they might never have gotten together. I think she would have been happy with you. And you might have actually been happy with her, and that scared you. So you ran... or limped really fast," she amended.

Ok, I do regret what I said next, but by this stage, she was so much like Cameron and after twelve years, it was overwhelming and I obviously didn't handle the situation too well.

"And then what would have happened?" I asked her. "Your mother and I would have professed our love for one another, gotten married, and lived happily ever after? You'd be Chloe House instead of Chase and your mother would be alive?"

Chloe gaped at me soundlessly, and I realised I'd hit a nerve.

"That's the real issue isn't it?" I asked her. "You're eighteen now, all grown up. Left high school, about to go to college. Stand on your own two feet. The problem is, you've suddenly realised that your Dad isn't enough. Yelling at me for something that happened more than twenty years ago and that I hate myself for everyday; is just a big cover up for the fact that you're mad at your dead mother for not being alive."


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: House isn't mine. Chloe is.**

**Four- Chloe**

Mom was right. The worst thing is House being right. The funny thing... well, funny-ironic, not funny-ha ha.... the funny thing is, I didn't realise he was right until I opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong.

"Oh my god... you're right," I said softly.

I could feel myself on the verge of breaking down, and obviously, Dr. House could see it too, because he abruptly pulled the box on the desk towards him and started digging through them all.

"How many of these have you read?"

I swallowed hard. "Just- up until you got shot."

He grimaced slightly. "Yeah, that's pleasant reading. Here."

He had pulled one out from the very bottom and flicked through a few pages before handing it to me.

"That's the one from the year you were born."

I took it silently, and gently caressed the covers.

"Chloe..." We both knew this was going to be awkward, but I just let him find his words.

"Your mom loved you. More than anything in this world. She didn't want to leave you. That's why your dad has a never ending supply of messages from the dead," he said bluntly and I smiled despite myself.

"She didn't want to miss anything, and she didn't want you to feel like she was missing anything."

I nodded slightly, my throat tight as I avoided looking at his face and then saw the time.

"I should go home. Dad will be home soon, and I don't want him to see me upset."

Dr. House nodded and we both stood as I repacked the box.

"Dr. House?"

I turned from the doorway and he met my gaze steadily. "What you said... you said you _are _in love with my mother. Do you still love her?"

"The word _am _seems to indicate present tense," he retorted, but I ignored the sarcasm. I knew he'd give me the truth.

Sure enough, he sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

I bit my lip nervously. "Dad and I... we talk about what she was like, or what she would have done in this situation or that one.... the few memories I have. I can't talk to him about... about why he loved her. Or how much I miss her. We don't talk about the letters."

"Maybe you should," he said quietly.

"I used to try," I admitted. "But Dad gets upset, so I stopped trying. Do you think I could talk to you? Maybe, sometime? Mom said I could."

As I knew he would, his head snapped up. "What?"

"The letter for my sixteenth birthday.... she wrote that she hoped you were still in our lives, and that if I ever needed to be able to talk about something where I need to hear the truth, I should talk to you. The letters... the diaries... I need to hear the truth."

Dr. House seemed speechless, which is a rare occurrence. Finally, he nodded. "Sure. And Chloe? Happy birthday."

I smiled in thanks and left his office, much more gracefully than I had entered previously.

I actually got home about thirty seconds before Dad did. It gave me enough time to dash upstairs and put the box under my bed to read later.

"Hey, tadpole!" he greeted me as I returned downstairs.

I good-naturedly rolled my eyes and he embraced me. "Hi, Dad."

"Happy birthday, sweetie. What did you do today?"

I shrugged as I followed him into the kitchen. I had already decided on the way home not to tell him about the diaries and my conversation with Dr. House. The shoes and clothes in the attic on the other hand....

"Not much. Went to mom's grave this morning, came home. Hung around the house relaxing."

"Wow, the life of the high school graduate," he teased.

I grinned. "Well, we can't all save lives."

Dad laughed. "Alright. So what does the birthday girl want for dinner?"

"Chinese," I replied immediately and then paused. "Dad? Do you think I could have my letter now? Instead of after dinner?"

Dad got his 'I'm-thinking-about-your-mother' look almost immediately, but nodded.

"Sure, hon. Sure."

I hung awkwardly around in the kitchen until he returned with the familiar envelope in his hands.

"Never gets any easier, does it Clo?"

I smiled and shook my head, hugging him tightly. "Thanks Dad. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie. I'll order dinner while you... do that. OK?"

I nodded, and took the letter upstairs to my room. As always, the envelope simply read "Chloe."

"My dearest Chloe.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. God, I can't believe it. I'm trying to picture you as an eighteen year old... but as I'm writing this, you're dancing around in the living room in the tutu we haven't been able to get you out of for a week. Please tell me you're not still wearing that tutu.

So, twelve years from now... you'll have graduated high school of course, so you'll have read the letter I wrote only yesterday for that occasion. I hope you're happy, baby girl. Your Dad and I have been trying not to let the fact that I'm sick interfere with your childhood, so I hope you're happy.

You may not know what I'm about to tell you, but I think at eighteen, you should know. I was married before your Dad, Chloe. I was twenty-one and I fell in love with a wonderful man named Sam. Six months after we were married, he died of cancer.

I promise you there is a reason why I'm telling you this. As I write this letter, it's been fourteen years since Sam died; and there are times when I'll be thinking of him, and I can't quite remember what he looks like. Or how he laughed, or the sound of his voice. And each time it happens, I have a momentary panic and a surge of guilt. My point for this letter is... if that happens to you, you one day can't remember the small details about me- never, _never_ feel guilty. It's just fact that the human brain can't remember everything forever. We're not elephants. The only thing I want you to always remember about me, is that I love you more than anything in the entire world.

I'd give anything to be able to be celebrating this and every birthday with you in person, and I'm so glad I at least got six beautiful years with you.

I love you Chloe. Happy birthday.

Love, Mom."

I wiped my eyes as I folded up the letter carefully, and sat in silence for awhile, just replaying my clearest memories of my mom, rereading and rereading the letter. Dad's knock on my door made me jump a mile.

"Hey, kiddo. The food's arrived."

I hadn't even heard the doorbell and nodded quickly. "Ok."

I put the letter aside on my desk and followed Dad downstairs. As we entered the kitchen, he put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. I smiled and returned the embrace before going to get dinner. And even over the Chinese food, I swear I could smell lilies.


End file.
